


perimeter of a hollow

by bestuntold (lacies)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Issues, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacies/pseuds/bestuntold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hoshido siblings learn to live around what was lost and what's still missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't a scream or a wail, but both smashed into one throat scratching yowl broken first by a choked cough and then by a shuddering sob.  It might have been a heartbreaking sound, coming from the youngest prince, but to Ryouma, with the source of the sound clutched tight and close to his head, it was unearthly, almost demonic.  He kept one arm wrapped around Takumi's legs to keep him from kicking anymore, his other hand on Takumi's back as he tried to run through the castle halls with his younger brother hefted over his shoulder.  Unfortunately he couldn't do anything about Takumi's hands that pounded at his back like tiny little bricks.

_When did he get this strong?_

At least that meant that Takumi was eating properly again, if he had the strength to thrash like this.

He almost ran right into Queen Mikoto, running through the halls as he was.  The sound of Takumi's shrieking and crying had drowned out the sound of their mother's footsteps.  That didn't matter though, what did matter was that she was here now and Ryouma barely managed to resist the urge to throw Takumi down at her feet and back away from it all.  His ears were going to be ringing for days.

"He won't stop crying," Ryouma said, stating the obvious, desperation dripping from his voice.

It took him a moment to notice the pallor of Mikoto's face, the newly familiar gauntness in her cheeks that seemed to have only deepened as the days and weeks passed.  Months now, actually, though it seemed even longer.

Ryouma kept Takumi firmly in his hold, the hand on his younger brother's back rubbing frantic circles that failed to soothe but still tried.

She held out her arms, offering to take Takumi from him, lips curving thinly in what was more of a fracture than a smile. 

He didn't really want to hand Takumi over to her anymore, afraid that the hysterical child might thrash and kick in their mother's thin arms, but she eased him off of Ryouma's shoulders anyways and cradled Takumi against herself so carefully and naturally.

And then he wasn't screaming anymore, stopped thrashing.  Takumi reached to wrap his arms around Mikoto's neck, still sniffling and sobbing, breaths coming in shaky hiccups.  She pet the back of his neck gently, hands moving in a soothing rhythm as if to guide those stuttering breaths into something calm and regular.  Takumi followed, the rhythm was still broken occasionally by a quiet sob, but slowly he calmed down, rubbing his dirty face against the clean white fabric of her robes. 

"I'm sorry."

Of course, he hadn't been able to help, even with something this small.  

Mikoto made a gentle shushing sound, Ryouma wasn't sure if she was trying to quiet Takumi or him. "It's not your fault."

But it was.

He didn't have Mikoto's gentleness or his father's patience.  He wasn't used to the heavy silence that filled the halls of Castle Shirasagi lately, or the crying and shrieking that crushed it.  He didn't know how to be a good son or brother like this, how to be a good prince.

"I should be able to do more."

Mikoto took her hand from the back of Takumi's neck and lightly laid it on Ryouma's arm.  The touch was so gentle and careful, just that one touch was so full of concern.  It was too heavy.

Ryouma stepped back, so that Mikoto's hand fell away from his arm. 

"I'll do better."

"Don't be silly, you don't have to worry so much, Ryouma.  Look, Takumi's fine now."

She shifted, trying to coax Takumi to lift his face and look at his brother but small hands clutched at her robes firmly and he kept his face pressed determinedly into her shoulder, refusing to look at Ryouma.

 

 

Ryouma was tall for his age, with a broad and sturdy build that made him look more a young man than a child.  He looked very much like his father had in his youth, or so he'd been told.  That used to be a good thing. Now, after what had come to pass, the resemblance felt like an extra burden on top of everything else that bore down on his shoulders, irrationally.  

He was the eldest, the age gap between him and Hinoka, too, felt heavier than ever.  The gap between him and Takumi was even greater; but, though he would never admit it out loud, he was still a child too.

He hadn't seen Takumi in several days, not really.  He thought he'd seen the ends of his hair in the corner of his eye yesterday, dashing low and quiet through the halls, but they hadn't spoken or even stood face to face since that other day.  It'd been too long.  Takumi was probably avoiding him deliberately, he was being ridiculous but -- he was only a child.  And it was probably much more ridiculous for Ryouma to avoid his younger brother.

Usually all he had to do to find Takumi was stand still and listen for a while.  He wasn't a particularly loud child but he wasn't quiet either, so in the past Ryouma only had to wait and listen for a bright laugh or the noisy clatter of something knocked over in play. 

But Ryouma had forgotten.

These days there wasn't much playing in the castle.  Laughter, even less.

The only sound he heard when he stood still and listened was the sound of listless, shuffling footsteps. 

 

 

It hadn't actually taken that long to find Takumi.  Even though the castle was large there weren't that many places that was of interest to a four year old. Still, for a burning, irrational moment, Ryouma panicked. 

He sighed, staring at Takumi sprawled on his stomach on the floor of Corrin's room, paper strewn around him and ink splatters dotting both the paper and his sleeves. 

"You should roll up your sleeves."

Takumi said nothing, didn't even turn to look up at Ryouma.

He sighed again, at this rate he would probably become but a gust of wind if he ceased to have a physical form. 

"Come on, sit up," he demanded, trying to ignore the little jump in Takumi's shoulders when he crouched down next to him.  Ryouma waited without saying anything else.

Takumi sat up eventually, holding out his arms and putting his dirty sleeves on display.  On one sleeve it looked like he dragged his entire forearm through the ink, though at least it was dry now.  The other sleeve wasn't so bad. 

Ryouma reached out slowly, afraid to startle Takumi, and carefully rolled his sleeves up so that they were neatly folded up past his elbows.  He glanced at Takumi's face, but didn't try to catch his downcast gaze.  "There."

He hated the heavy silences that fell over the castle now.  The laughter that used to be so commonplace seemed to have evaporated completely from their home.  It was so quiet and stifling that it hardly felt like the same home it used to be. 

"I'm sorry," he said, when the silence had stretched on for too long, when he couldn't stand it anymore.  "I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have hit you."

Ryouma winced, but it was a relief to apologise.  It was one less thing weighing down on him but everything else --

He couldn't do this.  Apologising was easy, the guilt and worry had been clouding his head for days, he meant it from the bottom of his heart.  But it didn't change that he had lost his temper, lost control, he didn't have their father's patience and calm.  He couldn't do it, couldn't fill the gaping hollow that the loss of their father had left behind. 

(How could he hold them together, how could he help, when he was still a child too?)

A light touch to his chin startled Ryouma.  He looked up at Takumi, he hadn't even noticed when he looked away.  Small hands pat at the faded bruise on his chin where Takumi had kicked him in the midst of his flailing.

"It's okay."

Takumi pulled his hand away and picked up his brush again, drawing aimless swirls on an over saturated piece of paper.  Ryouma just watched, quietly, as his younger brother reached for another piece of paper and started painting on it.  He held up the painting for Ryouma to see when he finished.

"It's for Corrin."

There was a rock on Ryouma's chest, so heavy that he could barely breathe some days.

He ran a hand through Takumi's hair, smile stretching over his lips.  It felt like his face would crack.  "It's perfect.  You can give it to him when he comes back."

Takumi smiled, placing a hand over Ryouma's that still rested on top of his head.

He'd seen this before, with his father and Takumi.

Ryouma pulled his hand back just to pinch Takumi's cheek lightly.  "And you better clean up the mess you made before he comes back."

Takumi whined noisily at the pinch and the chore, but he smiled up at Ryouma, without any cracks or fractures. 


	2. Chapter 2

Her eighth birthday went uncelebrated.  It suited Hinoka just fine, there was nothing to celebrate.  Instead she spent the day training, clutching her naginata tight in her hands, ignoring the pain from the blisters on her palms and heaviness in her shoulders that came only partly from overexertion.  She hardly rested that day, or any of the days that preceded. 

Hinoka paused to wipe at her brow with the back of her hand to stop sweat from running into her eyes.  The air was hot and thick, as expected at the height of summer, and she had been training so long she'd lost track of the time of day.  Hinoka was breathing hard, lungs on fire, and her arms felt like they were hardly attached to her body anymore. 

But her skinny arms had become used to the weight of the weapon, in time her skin would toughen to accommodate as well.  She'd made a lot of progress but she still had to push harder.  She would become steel-skinned, if that was what it took to bring her brother back. 

The thought of him trapped in that dark country, kept as a hostage in a dank cell, alone -- it made her blood boil.  It made her angry enough to storm the Nohrian capital right now.  Hinoka closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath; she grit her teeth and gripped her naginata more tightly.  The thought of Corrin always brought anger, now.  It was better than the crippling sadness, but just as overwhelming.  Her teacher had chided her several times on her temper since she began training with the naginata.  She had to master her mind as well as her body, and she would do it for the sake of her younger brother, like everything else.

She exhaled evenly, forcing the air out to remain a steady stream, no hissing or sighing or sobbing. 

Hinoka returned her naginata to the weapon rack after wiping down the shaft and properly sheathing the blade.  It was then that Mikoto spoke up.

"Hinoka," she called out, voice ever gentle.  Hinoka wasn't sure how long she'd been there.

The sun in the sky was low now, painting it in vicious reds.  The last time Hinoka had paused in her training was when she'd stopped to take a light lunch just after noon.  Mikoto probably hadn't been watching her that _whole_ time. 

"Queen Mikoto," she answered as she walked over.  Her voice was hoarse, though she wasn't sure if it was because her throat was dry or something else.  Regardless, Mikoto held out cup of water for Hinoka with a gentle smile on her face. 

She looked less tired these days, either from makeup or actually resting better. 

Hinoka looked away, her eyes falling on the weak healing rod that the Queen had apparently brought along.  She took the cup from Mikoto and drank it down in one gulp before saying anything more.  "Don't be ridiculous, a staff isn't necessary for a few blisters...save it for people that actually need it."

Mikoto sighed, smile falling away.  "Then at least let me see your hands, you haven't been taking care of yourself," she said, always in that gentle tone. 

"I don't need you to take care of me."

Hinoka clenched her fists, ignoring the burn that flared up from the action, and glared at the ground.

"Please," Mikoto whispered, voice so soft the wind could have lifted it away.

She should never had looked up.  It would have been better if she'd missed that pained look on Mikoto's face.

 

 

There was a messy little painting sitting on her bed when she returned to her room.  Hinoka recognised Sakura's careful spirals, Takumi's ink blot fireworks, and Ryouma's stiff calligraphy.

They were right here, under the same roof, and yet she missed them. 

Hinoka picked up the drawing and set it on her table, next to the last drawing Corrin had given her.  When Corrin came back and their family reunited, they could celebrate together then.  When they were together again everyone could laugh and smile like they used to.  Until then, nothing was worth celebrating. 

But this was temporary.  They only had to wait until Corrin came back, just a little longer.  Hinoka would bring him back, if no one else would move.

 

 

Days later, after her hands had mostly healed, Mikoto caught Hinoka at the castle's gates before she could even make it into town.  She was holding a staff that Hinoka didn't recognise, standing stiffly in front of the gates to prevent Hinoka from walking any further.

It took effort to not push past her.

"I'm going to bring him back," Hinoka whispered, voice low and harsh.

For all her gentleness, Mikoto was not a weak woman.  It was something Hinoka hardly acknowledged, especially since Corrin's abduction and her father's death.  Mikoto met her stare steadily, something in her posture and the strength of gaze almost made Hinoka flinch.

"No," she said, soft voice ringing clear like a bell, "I won't let you do something so foolish."

Hinoka grit her teeth, unwilling to back down.  "At least I'm doing _something_!  You're not doing anything to bring him back!"

"Hinoka...you know that's not true." 

She did.  But Hinoka was done waiting, done putting the rest of her family on hold while fighting nightmares about never seeing Corrin again.  If Mikoto was going to stop her then she was going to fight her as well.

"Then you're not doing enough."

She sprinted forward, willing to push Mikoto down to get past her if she had to.

The staff that Mikoto held glowed, blinding, and Hinoka's knees locked.  It happened so suddenly she would have tumbled to the ground if her feet weren't suddenly glued to the ground.

"Maybe you're right.  There may be more that I can do for that child..."  There was something heavy in Mikoto's voice, it sounded as if she was trying not to tremble.  "But I'm doing everything I can for my family. I won't lose one of my daughters as well, Hinoka."

Mikoto's hand touched her cheek gently, pressing two fingers to her temple.  Hinoka could feel her eyes growing heavy and her muscles losing strength.

"You...you're not my mother."

It was something that Hinoka had screamed in her own head more times than she could count, but, blurrily, she realised it was the first time she'd said it out loud.  She didn't really see Mikoto's expression as her consciousness began to slip away, nor could she hear what she said in response.

 

 

"Hinoka."

She blinked awake slowly and found herself back in her room, Ryouma sitting by her bed.  She sat up slowly, looking around. Mikoto wasn't there.

Hinoka felt her usual anger and more bubble up in her chest.  She clenched her fists in the blanket, if she had been alone she probably would have tried to tear them up in anger.  Holding all of it in was enough to make her shoulders shake.  She felt tears prick in her eyes and just tried all she could to keep them at bay. 

Certainly, Ryouma saw it.

"You were a fool today," Ryouma said, without waiting for her to calm down. 

"I know that!"  Her voice was hoarse and rough, from her dry throat and the force of her anger.  Did she always sound like that now?

It would take her months, years, to become strong.  Even though she'd been training every day for the last three months the strength she'd gained was inconsequential compared to the enemies she was facing.  But how long did they expect her to wait?  How long was she going to remain powerless?

"Is that all you were waiting around to say," she asked, staring at the back of her hands.

"I'm doing the best I can, just like you are, and mother too." 

It was rare to hear Ryouma speak so softly, gently. 

Hinoka swallowed, trying to push back all the anger for a moment at least. 

"...I know."

"And you can't ask for more than that."

"I _know_!"

"Hinoka!"

She finally looked at Ryouma, biting back the yell that rose from her gut, hot and vicious, and choked it back down.

"I mean that for you as well.  You can't demand more than your best from yourself."

It wasn't fair, Hinoka decided.  It would become impossible to talk back to Ryouma if he just became more and more like their father every day. 

"I'm sorry, Brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM...writing Hinoka is a struggle. I don't think I'll do it again.


End file.
